WDRSBN: Afterstory
by Bamboofoxfire Productions
Summary: [Sequel to "Apprentice Bookkeeper and Devil's Fledgling" and "White Demon, Red Scribe, Black Nightmare"] Bookman - once "Lavi" - is tasked by the heads of the Bookman Clan to undertake a test to join the higher ranks by retrieving a Piece of Eden, and traversing ruins haunted by his past. {Themes of Laven and Yullen}


**A/N:** So this was actually almost all thought up by shaerahaek except for some of the Bookman clan stuff at the beginning but as I portrayed Lavi throughout _White Demon, Red Scribe, Black Nightmare_ I ended up being the one actually writing it :D But credit for most of the story flow ideas goes to her~

If you haven't read the WDRSBN series already _I recommend you do_. A lot of this won't make sense or will potentially confuse you otherwise, as there is a _lot_ of missed backstory to this fic if you haven't read the rest yet (and major spoilers to the main fic).

The series goes in the order as follows:

1\. The Apprentice Bookkeeper and Devil's Fledgling (One-shot, complete)  
2\. White Demon, Red Scribe, Black Nightmare (43 Chapters, complete)  
4\. Afterstory (One-shot, You Are Here)

"Fallen"(the third installment) is an optional read, as its not actually canon to the WDRSBN storyline, and more of a bunch of "what if this turned out differently" drabbles (because I'm self-indulgent trash).

Anyway, happy reading!

* * *

 **WDRSBN: Afterstory  
A D Gray-Man ****and Assassin's Creed Crossover**

* * *

With a few easy, deft movements of his fingers, an image created out of gold strands of light appeared - holograms that only the First Civilization had ever managed to come even close to achieving. By comparison of the current 16th century, such technology was god-like.

Sure, people could construct elaborate buildings, castles, churches; they could create crude flying machines and devices for war such as catapults and ballistas; medicine and knowledge of the human body was rapidly evolving.

All of that was mere child's play compared to what the First Civilization was capable of achieving, and few but the Bookman are even aware of it. And they certainly weren't eager on spreading such knowledge beyond the confines of their own hidden vaults. The world was already plagued by two such groups outside their own who knew and used that knowledge to make war.

Things created by the First Civilization could be for _so much more_ , though. Now was a perfect example of that.

Images of small rectangular tiles fell, piling flat and in perfect alignment on top of each other until they had formed a significant structure, complete with every _click_ of them all falling into place as if they were solid objects. Each one was marked with a pattern, most of them unique from the rest.

It was a tool that was quite familiar to the red-headed bookman, but less so to the black-haired boy sitting across from him with a tense, furrowed brow. By contrast, the older man was as calm and stone-faced as could be, wearing the laziest of laid-back smiles and lounging with his cheek in-palm.

"Whenever you're ready," he prompted with a slight sweep of his hand, speaking in a tongue that would be long-dead if not for the existence of his Clan and the task that had first been given to them many millennia ago by humanity's predecessors.

The boy gulped softly to himself and hovered a hand over the tower of tiles, gnawing his lower lip as two pairs of eyes scoured the very top rows, trying to pinpoint where every piece was ahead of time. By contrast, his mentor was watching with only one, the other covered by an eye-patch (the apprentice insisted it was _cheating_ for him to use that other eye - fair enough, but he really didn't need it anyway).

Fingers flexed anxiously, knuckles lightly popping. When the younger boy - only maybe thirteen at the most - finally worked up the nerve, he touched two tiles and watched them vanish, breathing out tensely. The epitome of relaxation, his older mentor reached out and easily touched two of the tiles, which likely disappeared, making it his turn again.

In no time at all, they went back and forth for 41 rounds each before things started to get complicated, the boy's pace in finding matches among the stacks slowing with each new turn, making him all the edgier. Enviously glancing at his mentor, he couldn't help but noticing that he didn't look worried about his next moves at all. As a matter of fact, he looked ready to _fall asleep_.

He got his first "Time's up" on his 76th turn, muttering curses under his breath as his mentor took the first lead ahead of his own score. By now he was used to the games and tests on how much he learned and saw, things meant to push his skills to the furthest peak, but _this_ was one of the harder games and though he was determined and bull-headed, he had yet to even come close to winning. That frustration piled in the back of his mind like the ever-increasing stack of tiles in his mentor's score.

Oh, it _looked_ easy and simple, but it wasn't. He'd learned exactly how deceivingly easy it appeared to be the first time and had never again underestimated the real complexity behind it.

He had to keep track of it all - the narrow time frame, where the matching sets were amongst a good _thousand_ total pieces, where the _hidden_ sets were that matched but looked nothing alike, where the future matches appeared from underneath claimed tiles, where the next possible match was when one piece of the set he'd been keeping his eyes on was claimed by his mentor(damn his sharp eyes), and what move to make next that his _mentor_ wanted to make; all while trying to ignore the ever increasing gap in scores and the looming reality that there was _no way_ he was winning at this point anymore.

This would be so much easier if he could use his damn senses the way his mentor could - Eagle Vision or whatever the heck it was called. He could feel it there, teasing him from just out of reach.

But what really got under his skin the most was that his mentor didn't even _need_ to use his special senses to do it so easily.

The only thing that kept his own temper in check was imagining to himself that at some point Bookman had probably gone through the same thing at his age and had been sweating up a storm just like he was now, although the fact that it was difficult to imagine him that young broke some of the illusion (okay so its not like he was a fossil or anything yet, but the man was still past his prime as far as he could tell).

Still, it wasn't only a game, but a training tool. Teaching him to see and think quickly, to spot all the possibilities - not to mention tempering frustration when things weren't going the way he wanted. He was a lot better at this than he used to be, but it was still difficult, and after a while it made his head hurt. If he survived the night without a migraine blooming somewhere in his skull he was going to count himself blessed.

In any case, it helped in his training as the next heir to Bookman - or at least, one of many bookmen. Thankfully the whole thing of having only a title began and ended with dealings with the outside world. Within the Clan, everyone did have an actual allotted name, if only to keep away confusion as to _which_ "Bookman" was being referred to at any given time. Outsiders, though, had no access to this knowledge, and Clan names were used so sparingly they may as well not exist at all.

After many more rounds - which he lost horribly - the black-haired boy groaned and massaged his face with his hands. That headache was definitely settling in already.

"One of these days I'm going to defeat you, Sensei, mark my words."

Bookman only smiled at him in-turn, his relaxation not once interrupted by their little "match".

"One day, maybe. Not this day though." The lazy smile stretched into a scruffy grin when the boy decided the only fitting response was to flip him off.

Shortly after, another clansmen interrupted them, tawny golden eyes, sharp as his mentor's - no, not quite like his mentor, Sensei had something that even his seniors remarkably lacked - surveying the results of their game before speaking.

"Those of the Top will see you now."

Bookman nodded his head, impassive, and rose to his feet stiffly, waiting for his apprentice to follow his lead. There were no questions, and the walk was silent. There were few others who occupied the space as they walked the dimly lit corridors marked with elaborate glowing patterns, which waxed and waned with their presence, appearing only within the vicinity of where they walked.

Most of the bookmen and apprentices were out around the world, observing the conflicts and taking record of them. They were only here now because their specific presence had been requested to return. He couldn't help wondering why. He supposed he'd know soon enough.

A large door within the earth slid open, letting them through and into a much larger chamber, which was much more well lit than anywhere else. Patterns lined the walls where there was silver stone, broken only by solid black sheets of shale inlayed into the architecture that reflected a different pattern of light from every new angle as they walked.

Bookman idly folded his arms into his sleeves as he walked, sure-footed but moving with no kind of particular haste. Fidgeting with less self assurance, the boy clasped his hands loosely behind his back, following partly in his mentor's shadow.

Within the chamber, several stone pedestals provided a perch for which multiple figures sat, one to each, regarding the two as they appeared. The pedestals were square in shape, but formed a semi-circle, watching the two from all sides as they stopped in the center.

Bookman didn't even flinch, standing like a statue under their stares, but the boy couldn't help turning his head to regard each face until he started to feel like a bristling owl.

 _"Evene,"_ one of the figures regarded, using his mentor's Clan name to acknowledge him.

The boy tried to make himself still, feeling like the odd one out fidgeting so much, but it was difficult not to have his eyes wander self-consciously.

 _"We've called you here for an important task. We believe now is as good a time as any. Rather, that this may indeed be overdue,"_ one figure spoke.

"Alright," Bookman acknowledged easily, voice fully neutral.  
 _  
"For one such as yourself, this task should be easy,"_ another, this voice female, spoke. _"Yet still not to be underestimated."_

 _"In a ruin, another of the Pieces remains hidden. It was once guarded, but now lies unprotected."_

"And you would like me to retrieve it," Bookman deduced simply.

 _"That is correct."_

"Consider it done," Bookman accepted easily. "To where am I and my apprentice to go?"

* * *

"A test?" Nikhil - previously named Kade, then Isai, and Daisuke before that - parroted, tugging their denchu Aka along and ignoring a testy bray from the animal at trying to climb a tricky slope, though he was patient enough to let her find her footing to follow.

"Indeed. Did you not catch it yourself?"

Nikhil frowned at the implication. He didn't catch it, exactly, but it had felt more complicated than was being said outright.

"I caught that the discussion felt a little strange and deliberate... like not everything was being said."

Bookman hummed, but otherwise didn't comment, making him self-conscious all over again. He huffed, knowing that this, like that, wasn't something that needed to be stated outright.

He should be watching for the things that aren't immediately noticeable. That's the way of their Clan, isn't it? It doesn't need reminding. He should always be vigilant, at all times, even among the walls of their vaults.

"So when they said we believe now is a good time and this may be overdue, they were talking about some kind of promotion or... rite of passage or some such?" he guessed, voicing his thoughts and watching Bookman's face for a reaction. He didn't get one.

Grumbling to himself, he looked around for a small stone and chucked it at the back of his mentor's head. He missed. Rather, Bookman  
dodged it.

Damn him.

And damn that stupid over-the-shoulder smirk.

"Well?!" he demanded.

"You would be correct in your assessments."

"So you were just trying to get a reaction out of me," Nikhil, likewise, assessed, not incorrectly.

"It was a test."

Nikhil really hated that dumb self-satisfied smile. "I'm going to throw a bigger rock this time."

"I'll dodge that one too."

"Then I'll just drop one on you in your sleep!" Nikhil snapped.

Bookman laughed unconcern.

Nikhil only continued to glare, at least until a much more frigid gust of icy mountain wind blasted him and made him lose his balance somewhat. He, thankfully, stumbled _away_ from the perilous edge rather than _towards,_ raising a hand to shield his eyes against the sting. Bookman, as with all things he does, continues on his way as if he doesn't even notice, though his clothes and hair do as they billow in the wind.

Huffing quietly, he continued to trudge, fighting the gale every step of the way, while Aka continued to honk protests at his heels. He had to pause for a moment to wipe his eyes as they watered, chilled by the wind, and blinked upwards.

At the crest of the climb, Bookman had stopped, giving Nikhil a moment to pick up his steps and half-hop, half-crawl up the slope, until he and the animal managed to reach Bookman's side.

Then did his eyes wander, to a crumbling stone pillar that Bookman was watching intently. There was hardly anything worth distinguishing about it at first careless glance, but squinting at it further, Nikhil noticed how uniform the weathered shape was, yet it was a small amount too square to be carved by the elements.

He glanced up at his mentor. When Bookman didn't say anything, he voiced, "Is that it?"

Bookman merely nodded, starting down the slope a bit more slowly than he'd gone up, picking his way carefully down sharp crags. Nikhil likewise followed carefully, more for Aka's sake than his own, seeing as he was easily smaller and more maneuverable than her. He mostly kept his eyes on his footing and over his shoulder at the animal, and thus nearly ran into Bookman's back when the man finally stopped.

He glanced around Bookman's side as the redhead's single eye wandered a wall in front of them, definitely far too flat to be naturally made. After a moment, Bookman produced several small objects that those at the Top had given him, sorting them and inserting each into a different slot in the wall. When he'd set all of them, the wall slid open, revealing a dark passage, and Bookman smiled.

"First part of the test already done."

Nikhil wondered, with the prideful lilt touching Bookman's voice, if the test was anything particularly difficult. It didn't _look_ like anything complex, but then again, neither had the tile training game he and Bookman played often. In fact, he found that more often than not, it was the things that looked simplest that were the hardest.

He wanted to ask, but then again, maybe he wouldn't get an answer, or wasn't supposed to know. Maybe he'd have to do the test too, so would it be cheating? Would anyone even know if he'd already seen how the test worked?

He tied Aka's reigns to one of the large stone pillars outside and squinted as he quickly dashed after Bookman into the hall, which lit to their presence similar to the halls of their other vault.

"Sensei."

"Hm?"

"Is this something I'll have t' do when I get old like you?" He tried not to react as Bookman gave him a look over the shoulder at calling him _old_. It was, after all, entirely deliberate, and less fun if he let the other bother him about it.

"Likely not."

"How come?" What kind of test was it even for, he wondered?

"While its true that those who possess the ability to unlock the senses that the Isu passed down to humanity are rare in themselves, there are those whose abilities transcend what is normal even for such exceptional individuals. In reality, all humans are, technically, capable of unlocking these senses, but to some it comes more naturally than others."

Nikhil muttered incoherently under his breath. "So you're saying I'm untalented."

"In a way, yes," Bookman hummed. "I was even younger than you when I had a high level Sense. You could almost say I was born with it. A prodigy. To have it in even one eye so young is not completely unheard of, but it is exceptionally rare even by the standards of rare. I've been on the Top's radar ever since I was small because of this, but to promote me beyond a normal rank too soon would have been worse than to promote me later than is strictly necessary."

Nikhil hummed, pondering over it. Promotion? Would that make him something else other than another Bookman like all of the others? Would his duties change? He couldn't help looking elsewhere in bitter resignation. If his Master was so _exceptional_ and he was just _average_ at best, then...

"So will it still be you teaching me the ways of the Clan? Or would I get passed along to some _other_ Bookman to learn from them?"

He knew better than to let old wounds from before Bookman took him in ache, but it was easier said than done. This Name shouldn't have those feelings. Each Name had its own history, untied to any previous and certainly not to the person they were before becoming an apprentice.

Even so-

A hand planted on his head and roughed his hair, Bookman regarding him with a look that was neutral, maybe not quite _sympathetic_ , but knowing.

"No. The only time an apprentice changes masters is when the Bookman in question is no longer around, such as if he were to die. My rank won't determine whether or not I continue your apprenticeship."

Nikhil flushed and kept his eyes elsewhere, puffing his cheeks like a frog before letting the air out gustily. Bookmen let go and started walking again.

"In all seriousness, I chose you for a reason, just as my mentor chose me. That should be enough. Besides, who else could possible keep y'in check if not me?"

"Oh, _real_ funny!" Nikhil snapped, jogging after and punching Bookman hard in the side, which made the man laugh as much as he cringed.

Lunatic.

* * *

Teasing aside, Bookman turned his focus back to his task, albeit he had already been watching for anything out of the ordinary. This place was trapped. Most of the First Civilization's temples and ruins were, in some way or other, though most would either be unaware to it or not equipped to deal with such traps.

However, as a Bookman, the closest remnants to the Isu themselves, he knew and he was equipped for it. He merely had to tread carefully, and keep his senses sharp. Having Nikhil along did raise some concerns, but so long as the boy followed his directions, he was sure the kid would be fine. If he doubted otherwise for any reason, he could always deal with it as it came, but the Top had shown no argument for his apprentice accompanying him, so he was reassured by that if nothing else.

The long corridors opened into a wide chamber decorated with floor tiles, and he stopped shy of them, extending an arm to keep Nikhil from accidentally passing him by. Simply a precaution.

"What is it?" Nikhil peered over his arm.

"Another test, I'm sure." Activating his Eagle Vision only confirmed as much, everything else in his sight darkening and the floor tiles lighting up under a myriad of colors: reds, blues, golds.

It felt... too simple.

No, before proceeding any further, he wanted to read what he was looking at with both eyes.

He fluttered his right eye as he peeled the eye patch back, giving his brain a moment to adjust to the new inlet of information. Pulses of contained energy in the walls, flickering and shimmering in flowing streams in tandem, the different colors of light coming up from the tiles, and phantoms long past moving to cross the same space.

Some were unimportant, other than the fact that he saw their final moments as they stepped wrong across the floor and triggered lethal traps. Probably trespassers outside the Clan. Others he paid greater heed to, as they moved with care, following the paths across that were blue or gold.

Curiously, either path granted safety, but did the one he chose matter? Would following the blue tiles create a different result than those of the gold? Would he even know if they did?

He hummed to himself in speculation, ignoring Nikhil's interested staring. Blue was often the color that the Sense assigned allies with, but often gold was the color of a Target, sometimes an enemy and sometimes a Piece of Eden. He was here to retrieve another Piece, so perhaps he should follow the gold. Then again, the Clan was his ally, his home and his life's work, so maybe it was the blue?

Then again...

He replaced his eye patch and regarded Nikhil in appraisal, toying with an idea, reading confusion in the boy's eyes as he debated his course. What was stopping him - _them_ \- from taking both blue and gold paths? So like as they didn't mess up.

"I need you to be careful and follow my instructions exactly," he informed Nikhil. "Some of these floor tiles are trapped. If you put any pressure on them, you could, potentially, die. So long as you do as I tell you, that won't happen though, got it?"

Nikhil's eyes hardened - fearless, ready, stubborn and determined, all traits he had deemed valuable - and the boy nodded understanding. Bookman merely smiled and focused on his own footing first, picking his way across the golden tiles, while directing Nikhil over the ones that shone blue, telling him where to step and where not to.

Troublesome though the boy could make himself be, when he really focused on a task, he did so with the sharpest attention. True, he'd been born with a special eye himself, but he couldn't help thinking Nikhil was the more focused of the two compared with Bookman when he was around that age. Really though, back then, he could be pretty awful. Sometimes he still was.

In no time at all, and without a single misstep, they reached the other side of the hall, feeling good with themselves. He gave Nikhil a light cuff anyway - mostly for the scowl it earned.

"Don't get a fat head, now. There'll be many more tests, and they'll only get harder as we go."

Nikhil _harrumph_ ed and folded his arms over his head, turning away. "Speak for yourself, Sensei. Unlike you, I'm still young and spry."

Bookman raised his brows. "Excuse you?"

"You heard me," Nikhil retorted, pulling an eyelid and sticking out his tongue. "Bleehh! -ow, _ow!_ " He grabbed the knuckles grinding into his scalp and redirected them before quickly ducking out of reach.

"That's what I thought," Bookman smirked.

" _Kutabare boke!_ "

Bookman only smiled wider.

* * *

A number of tests later, each more difficult than the previous - but nothing the redhead couldn't handle - and Bookman was feeling pretty good with himself. He wasn't quite so arrogant as to drop his guard or think he wouldn't come across a true challenge, but a little bit of pride didn't hurt too much. So long as he kept it in check, anyway.

His eye hurt a bit, and he'd started to give it some rest with replacing the eye patch to where it belonged, but it was certainly much easier to handle than years prior. The strain wasn't nearly so bad as back then, with the training he had put both his other eye and mind through.

He idly wondered how many more tests awaited them, keeping his attention alert for any signs of the Piece they were to retrieve, but more than likely it was deep within the heart of the ruin. Still, he wasn't going to overlook the possibility of it being somewhere else less suspected, as that may be part of the test as well. It only seemed fitting.

He wondered what sort of Piece it would be. Another Apple? Or something else? After all, the First Civilization had created and left many devices, as many as were known to be necessary in the Isu's seemingly infinite wisdom. Infinite, only because of how advanced it was, not in actuality, but even so, Bookman was able to appreciate the full complexity of what they had been capable of.

Idly, he considered the possibility of the artifact being nothing at all, or at least nothing noteworthy, other than a goal for the test. It was more likely than not, he thought, but perhaps it had some significance after all. Unrealized, maybe, but that didn't matter. It would find its purpose eventually if so.

He knew that well.

His thoughts stalled for a moment as he thought he heard something. A murmur, maybe, or a gust of wind. Possibly something active within the old temple. It could even be the next trap. He cautiously came to a stop, straining his ears to hear, listening for the sound to project again.

There was definitely _something_ further in making noise. It tickled his memory somewhere.

...what was it?

Closing his eyes, he turned his head slightly, trying to find it without moving.

"Sensei?"

"Shush," Bookman told him. Nikhil obeyed. He tilted his head this way and that, and then the sound came again; soft, obscure, but undeniably familiar.

 _"...La...vi..."_

Breathing hitched, head twitching up slightly. He stared ahead, barely daring breathe. He had to of imagined it... it couldn't be. There was simply no way. None. That had been near fourteen years prior... near eleven since _he_ had died from the wounds the Apple of Eden had inflicted on his body.

He was gone.

He wasn't coming back.

 _"Lavi..."_

A scowl formed on his face, lips pressed into a fine line and single eye narrowed. Breathing forcibly evened out. He made rigid muscles and bristling hair relax. Quietly building, perplexed panic settled as he let reason take over and suppress unneeded emotion in entirety.

Whatever he was hearing was false ; it wasn't real. It defied logic. The dead don't come back, so it was a trick of some kind. He wasn't sure how, or why, his mind was trying to play at sentiment long buried now, but he wouldn't allow himself to stray over something so laughably easy to see through.

He wasn't _that weak._

Trying to trick him with sounds? As if he'd be led astray by that! Bookman squared his shoulders defiantly and pressed onward, resuming his pace from before his momentary falter. He heard Nikhil hesitate a moment before hopping to follow, trailing just behind him.

 _"Laaviii..."_

He flicked his head as if to rid the sound from his ears, moving forward. No, he wouldn't be distracted by that. That voice was one he wouldn't... _shouldn't_... hear again. Even if they weren't dead, because of his duties. He left that Name behind, _twice_ , when it should have only been _once_ , and he was over and done with that past.

There was only Bookman. "Lavi" was long gone. He wasn't coming back, and neither was Allen. The dead don't return. Not even the will of the Isu could stop or reverse death. It simply wasn't possible, and not an idea that should be entertained anyway.

A person was only as real as the traces they left, anyway, and Bookmen didn't leave traces. _Bookman_ was just a nameless entity; without name, without home, without attachment. That had been drilled into him so many times, again and again, since he was young, and he had never forgotten it. Wouldn't forget it. This trick-

 _"Lavi!"_

-was meaningless, because there was no meaning behind a scribble of ink in an archived book, untouched by any who might care to read it.

Forgotte-

 _Ow._

"-Sensei!" Not nearly as forgotten as Nikhil's fist into his spine. He _definitely_ wasn't as young as he used to be.

Even less forgotten than his own fist smacking over his apprentice's head, in a way not so different from how Bookman used to hit him, the difference being he was actually _taller_ than his apprentice and didn't have to jump to reach that high.

"OOoowwww!" Nikhil ducked away rubbing his head. "Stupid jerk! Its not my fault you're not listening to me!"

"I'm always listening."

Nikhil gave him a look. "Then answer me, damn it!"

Bookman opened his mouth, paused, then clicked his mouth closed. _Shit_ , what _had_ he been saying? He straightened up and closed his eye, trying to recall, not having realized anything had been said at all. _Still_ , he should have caught something of it.

It was-

It was...

Oh. Moving fast. Questioning why his pace changed. Something that made him move more urgently? ...ah, yes, that was it. Had Nikhil heard it too, or was he the only one? Would Nikhil even understand? Certainly he wasn't about to dig up old names.

"There's something here. I'd like to try and bypass it as quickly as possible."

"Oh..." Nikhil deadpanned, still rubbing his head. He dropped his arms to his sides. "How can you tell?"

Bookman hummed, gaze flicking to him in question. "Can you not tell?"

A brow raised at him. "Tell what?" When Bookman only hummed, Nikhil scowled. "This another one of your dumb mind games?"

A smile, before Bookman turned on his heel and began walking again. "Who can say?"

"Next trap we meet, I'm shoving you straight into it."

"Ooh~ Sca-ry~" Bookman teased. "Better hope I don't drag you down with me. Y'really think your reflexes can outdo mine?"

"You're old," Nikhil snorted. "Of course I can outmaneuver you."

"I'm not _that_ old." Bookman rolled his eye. "Its a good thing y'never got to meet my mentor. He could still kick anyone's ass even into his nineties, even-"

He stopped, not simply because he was beginning to stray into a story best left as dead as its cast, but because what lay ahead of them tried to defy that very truth as he spoke.

Average... maybe slightly _short_ stature, hair white as fresh snow, and an unmistakable scar over one gray-blue eye, while normal fingers idly laced into burned ones behind the figure's back. They were focused on something else, staring into the distance, like looking at or even _through_ the walls all around them. An owlish blink of wonder fluttered their eyes as their head finally turned to look, recognition sparking in those metallic pools, and a warming smile blossoming across their face.

That-

Bookman clenched his teeth hard, narrowing his eye.

That...

 _"Lavi..."_

 _...isn't real._

And he was not amused.

 _"It's so good to see you again!"_

He didn't say anything, impassive, and didn't even flinch as Nikhil peeked around him and looked up, then towards the image of Allen, and back again.

"Sensei?" Nikhil waved a hand in front of his face.

 _"I've been waiting for you to come, Lavi, and for such a long time!"_

Bookman grabbed his wrist, stopping the motion and turning his sights from the fake _image_ back to Nikhil, serious-faced. "What?"

"What're you looking at?"

Bookman remained silent for a moment, resisting the urge to work his jaw. It didn't matter. Its _fake_. Nothing but a stupid trick. Nikhil couldn't see it, but then... Nikhil still didn't have his Sense. Perhaps that was why Nikhil thought he was acting strange. He simply wasn't experiencing the same things.

Maybe that was for the better.

"Nikhil, tell me, what do you see there?" he jerked his head forward, trying not to look too hard, but at the same time, straining to make out some detail, some _flaw_ that would solidify in his mind that this was nothing but a cheap, dumb trick. However hard he looked though, he couldn't see a flaw. This _forgery_ looked every bit as real as Allen had, not simply the vague phantoms that his advanced Sense often revealed to him or the holograms that the First Civilization technology created, and yet his mind was still screaming at him that it was _wrong_ and _false_.

There was _something_ there, and some part of his mind was catching it, but he couldn't put his finger on _what_ it was noticing, other than the fact he knew Allen to be dead, and even if he weren't, he should have _aged_.

Maybe that's what was putting up flags in his mind. Allen _hadn't_ changed from last Bookman had seen him, and he should have, so was the image taken from his own memories somehow?

Nikhil squinted, changing angles this way and that, but he looked back and shrugged.

"Walls? Stone? Why? What am I supposed to be seeing?" He turned and squinted again, leaning forward as if that'd make something clearer to him.

"Nothing, I suppose... just another dumb trick. You probably can't see it, because your Sense is still dormant, but to me its clear as day."

 _"Lavi... won't you answer me? It's been such a long time, I thought you'd have more to say."_

Bookman sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, pondering what to do. If its only a figment, then its meant to lead him astray, but that's probably all, right? Still, there's a risk, and he has Nikhil to think of.

There's also the matter that he's not sure exactly what this _Allen illusion_ will be able to do to them, if anything at all. Will it only try to lead them astray? Time to find out.

"Stay behind me and keep a little bit of distance," Bookman advised, drawing a dagger from his belt and moving forward. He didn't think this _Allen_ would be a direct threat so much as an indirect one, but one could never be too careful.

Nikhil nodded, hesitantly tailing him as he progressed forward, a look of uncertain fearfulness flitting briefly in his eyes.

`Allen` grew wide-eyed, watching him approach with a look of distress.

 _"Lavi? It's me!"_

"No, it isn't. You are a fake. If you were real, you'd be visible to everyone, not only me, but you're just an illusion meant to trick me, and I'm not falling for it."

 _"What?"_ `Allen` gasped, taken aback and looking hurt. _"Lavi! I'm real! I'm right in front of you! Don't you see? Your first love, come back to you!"_

He wasn't going to let it affect him. Allen was _dead_. The dead don't come back, and Allen had his chance to _come back to him_ , but Allen had moved on, just as he himself had, and had found someone else - Kanda - whom he was happy to be with, in the time he'd still been alive. Bookman had to qualms about that, which was as things should be. It was good that Allen had moved on in life, and it was inevitable that he had moved on then from this world too when his injuries caught up with him.

That history had _passed_ and in the past it should stay.

"You, the real _you_ , is dead. That is a matter of irrefutable fact. You will not block my path. He was never able to in life, and you, a shoddy impersonation at best, won't be able to do so any better in his death."

 _"I'm real!"_ the impersonator screeched. _"I'm real and you're hurting me! You're hurting me again, Lavi! Why can't you find space for me in your heart?"_

He flinched, just a tiny bit, but quickly shook it off, hardening himself. This was pathetic. So damn pathetic it was laughable. What a truly shoddy trick.

 _"You deny having one, but I know you! I know the real you! Stop denying me! It was always meant to be us, if you would only stop pushing me away! Lavi!"_

When he reached the _thing_ claiming to be `Allen`, he was ready to fight it if he had to, a tightness in his chest at the idea he couldn't quite identify, but it didn't matter, since he was able to pass right through it. Nothing but a phantom. _Exactly_ like a phantom.

 _Not real._

A figment of the mind.

Just as he'd known all along.

 _"Lavi, stop! You cannot simply-"_

"Enough." Bookman turned around, eye cold and hard as tempered steel. "Were you real, I wouldn't have simply passed through you as such. I'd have run into your mass. Therefore, you aren't, and I'm finished with you. I've been finished with you for a long time. Now begone. Your trick failed." Eye flicking to Nikhil, who only watched him with curiosity and confusion, he motioned with a flick of his head. "Let us continue to the next test. This one is already over."

Nikhil merely nodded slowly, quickly hopping and passing through just as easily. The boy paused as he reached Bookman's side and glanced back in wonder, but otherwise they remained silent as they continued on.

* * *

Things certainly went from straightforward to confusing quickly. Nikhil knew, from what he'd been told, that the Sense of the Isu was an entirely different way of perceiving the world, extrasensory unlike anything else. Even so, he couldn't exactly imagine it, though he sometimes thought he felt a _tease_ of it just out of reach, taunting him.

It was frustrating, but Bookman had assured him time and again that it would come in time. He just had to be patient.

As he followed Bookman through... the space where whatever he'd been talking to had been, there was a _feeling_ of _something there_. It was just a subtle itch, and honestly he couldn't even be sure if it was real or simply a matter of Power of Suggestion. Perhaps because Bookman acted so strange as if something were there, his own mind was playing tricks on him.

He wouldn't put that kind of prank past his aging mentor.

Still, he wasn't sure it was just Bookman messing with him again. Between earlier, when he'd been nearly charging forward to get further ahead, and now, when he walked with a kind of tension that was difficult to miss, he wasn't so sure that it wasn't something real. It seemed like Bookman was... _affected_ , to put it as closely as he could think to describe it.

Was he agitated? It was hard to say, but he seemed like it. Nikhil didn't see him get ruffled by anything often... not _ever_ , in fact. Bookman was always in control of himself, to an annoying degree. To see something bother him was disconcerting, but without even really knowing _what was going on_ , it wasn't as if he could really do anything about it.

What would happen if he brought it up? Would Bookman get mad at him next? _Was_ Bookman mad? It seemed like it... his eyes had gone so dark. He didn't like it, but he didn't want to make it _worse_.

What could possibly garner that sort of reaction from his experienced teacher, he wondered?

Someone who died...?

Someone important? But Bookmen didn't form attachments... not without breaking the rules. Unless, perhaps, the figure had been the Bookman who raised his teacher, before he too became another `Bookman`, or...

He shook his head. He was thinking too hard. How could he even begin to predict when he didn't have a clue what was going on? He couldn't even see or hear whatever it was that Bookman was reacting to!

And yet, walking that space, what he did know was that he _felt_ something, what he had learned to identify as the trace of his Sense, as far as he was aware at least. Bookman had said he couldn't see what was going on because his remained dormant, yet that short moment had felt like it brought him closer to finally achieving it.

Maybe, then, that was it...

If he could only use his Sense...

If he could only see and hear what his mentor was able to...

He huffed and focused again on that lingering feeling, hoping that maybe if he tried, and focused hard enough, he'd get something. Even if it was just a blip, a small taste... that'd be better than nothing, right? If it was any bit as amazing as his mentor made it sound, and helped give him better insight into the situation, then he wanted to make it work for him. He wanted to finally unlock his Sense.

He closed his eyes as he tried to focus on that feeling, trying to tease it out of hiding and growing frustrated at how much it refused to heed him, but with a great deal more patience and persistence, it felt like something was budging. There was a sound... or maybe more like the _idea_ of a sound than a sound itself, like the drop of a pin, or the drip of water somewhere unseen.

It was _there_ , somewhere... somewhere near, but he couldn't place where or exactly what the sound was. It was entirely unintelligible, maybe not quite a voice...

Aaaand... gone again, just as quickly as he'd run into Bookman's backside, his mentor once again stopping in his tracks.

"A little warning next time?" Nikhil complained, craning around him to see. Still, nothing worth noticing, at least not from what he could tell.

Bookman didn't humor him with a response, instead taking out a long cloth piece and tying it around his eyes, blindfolding himself.

"I'm going to need you to do something for me."

"Okay?" Nikhil gave the other a confused look. Entirely wasted, on account Bookman wouldn't see it anyway now, but his tone carried much of the same concept.

"You are going to be my eyes from here on. I'm relying on you to guide the way."

 _No pressure_ , Nikhil felt like saying. "But I don't have your Sense..."

"It's fine," Bookman assured confidently. "You won't need it. In fact, its probably better that you don't have it. If you notice anything questionable, just tell me and I can check it, but otherwise I'm going to stop using my eyes until we get further in."

Nikhil hummed speculatively, wondering at the reasons, but shrugged, stepping just ahead. "Don't say I never did nothin' for you, Sensei."

Bookman smiled humorously. "Now why would I ever say that?"

"-also, seeing as I was voted into taking the lead, don't blame me if we die."

Now it was Bookman's turn to hum, his smile thinning a little. "Not dying would be much preferred."

Nikhil walked ahead, idly humming a tune he had heard a long time ago under his breath so that Bookman had a definitive sound to follow, this coming easier than talking on and on, though at any part that needed a little more instruction, he told Bookman of things that he might trip on or need pay special attention to maneuvering around.

Still, the question continued to linger on his mind and he couldn't help asking.

"Why're you going through blind? Is whatever it is that bad?"

It had to be, didn't it? Bookman never looked away from anything, or balked, or got squeamish, no matter how ugly things got.

"It isn't something _bad_ , per se," Bookman told him crisply. "However, the eyes can be deceived. I should have figured that sort of thing would be part of the test. Sometimes seeing more than anyone else can also mean that your eye can be tricked even easier than if you saw less."

Nikhil hummed, thinking on that. "So to not be deceived, you chose to simply not see? Isn't that kind of the opposite of what we're s'posed to do?"

"What we look to see is truth in its most raw form. I'm aware of the truth, yet my eyes continue to see falsehoods. Therefore, closing my eyes to lies is also part of our line of work. I still have my other senses, and it changes nothing about reaching our goal or what I know to be truth."

"I think I understand..." Nikhil replied thoughtfully, though he wasn't entirely sold on it. Something about it felt off, in a way, but he wasn't sure how. Bookman still seemed _tense_ , and that in itself wasn't right.

"Let's just keep moving," Bookman urged. "I think we're getting close."

"How can you tell?"

"It's just a feeling."

Nikhil wondered about that, but shrugged it away. It was only a dumb test anyway, right? So why spend so much time thinking over it anyway.

They continued along their path, generally unhindered other than a few puzzles here or there that needed be solved, and Nikhil saw nothing of what Bookman mentioned or had potentially spoken to...

Until suddenly he did, just before being forcefully yanked into an enclosed space and shut in.

* * *

Bookman was very much fed-up with the whispers, calls, and screeches directed at him in _that_ voice. Certainly, talking to Nikhil made it a little easier, gave him something else to focus on, but that other _voice_ was still there, mocking him with its presence.

He frowned, but did his best to ignore it, to focus on other things. He could block out sight, but blocking out sound was different. He needed to hear to navigate, listening to Nikhil's vocalizations and instruction to know where and how to move. Unfortunately that meant he'd simply have to tolerate hearing the sound of _Allen_ all over again even though Allen was gone forever.

Whatever. Didn't matter. It was only a stupid test, and he was ready to be over with it.

Nikhil was curious of course, wanting to know what was going on, probably wishing to know or see what he was, and hear what was going on, but Bookman was a bit relieved that he couldn't, truth be told.

For one, it brought up questions he wasn't keen on answering about past Names when he was an apprentice, and moreover, how he'd screwed up while playing that Name, when he was still younger and more foolish. Besides that, having Nikhil not be able to hear or see meant that he was unaffected by what was going on, and able to progress forward unhindered.

Perhaps not how the test was intended on being taken, but then no one had ever set any specific rules on how he could or couldn't pass it.

He was getting rather good at tuning the voice out, if he did say so himself, turning it into nothing more than an annoying drone of background noise to be ignored. It may as well not even be there, and he felt content merely letting it tantrum away, unable to do anything to sabotage his progress so long as he didn't allow it control.

All it was was noise, so what was there to worry about?

Instead, he focused on the tune Nikhil was humming, a traditional song from his original homeland he recognized as _Teru Teru bōzu_. Despite the implication of association to _past_ , he let it slide, letting the sound guide him, and as an added distraction, couldn't help thinking of the lyrics as Nikhil set the rhythm.

 _-l_ _ike the sky in a dream sometime_  
 _If it's sunny I'll give you a golden bell_

 _Teru-teru-bozu, teru bozu_  
 _Do make tomorrow a sunny day_  
 _If you make my wish come true_  
 _We'll drink lots of sweet sake_

 _Teru-teru-bozu, teru bozu_  
 _Do make tomorrow a sunny day_  
 _but if it's cloudy and I find you crying_  
 _Then I shall snip your head o-_

The reciting thoughts cut short when Nikhil suddenly yelped aloud, leading Bookman to stop in his tracks.

"What is it?"

He didn't get an answer. Instead, he heard something... _stone_? ...scraping, like something opening or closing, and silence. Wrenching the cloth away from his eyes, he whipped his head around in searching, but didn't see Nikhil anymore.

That wasn't to say he was alone though.

He narrowed his eye in distaste. "What did you _do?!_ "

The fake image of Allen smiled at him sweetly, yet there was something still undeniably menacing about it, chilling his spine. That alone was enough to tell him it _wasn't_ Allen. Allen could never get that sort of reaction from him. Being near Allen felt... _warm_. _Safe_ _._ Cared about. He still remembered clearly. He shouldn't know, or remember, that kind of feeling, but he did.

 _"And now its just us again."_

Bookman grit his teeth, not in any sort of mood to play _games_. Least of all with the life of his - _his_ \- apprentice. His young, promising, _still alive_ apprentice. Not for an _illusion_.

"I won't ask again. _What_ did you _do_ with him?"

`Allen` clicked his tongue in disapproval, frowning at him. _"I've waited all this time for you, and this is how you treat me? After everything we've been through... everything you've done..."_

"You aren't fooling anyone. You aren't real. Just another part of this test. I've already figured you out, so why don't you just save me the trouble and _vanish_?"

`Allen` sighed gustily and looked at him with sad eyes. _"Yes... that's how you've always felt, isn't it? That I was nothing to you? That I should just disappear?"_ He pursed his lips, looking away and off into some distant space. _"That's why you always ran away... you left me again to die, even after I thought my life would continue much longer. But you weren't around, and I got worse, and worse... and no one but you knew how to fix me, so I died."_

It took a great deal of conscious effort for Bookman to unclench his hands, fingers aching with the tightness and knuckles turning white.

"Stop it."

`Allen` looked back at him, with those _damn_ eyes, hurt and resigned. _"I was never real to you. Just a game. That's why you left me all those times. Why you were always fine with Kanda having me, because you didn't want me."_

"That's right." His jaw pinched at how much the muscles in his face were drawn. He hated this. What kind of dumb, asinine, pointless test was this?

 _"But I was real, Lavi! I was a person! I felt, and I lived, and I loved, and we should have been together!"_

" _Was_. Now you're nothing but a figment of imagination, and we were never meant to be together. I was always meant to be a Bookman. That's what you want to hear, isn't it? That I don't care. I don't. I didn't. That isn't going to change. Now _tell me_ where Nikhil is."

 _"He doesn't matter!"_ `Allen` insisted, drawing closer in long, deliberate strides. _"Don't you SEE, Lavi? I'm here and I'm real and I still love you, and I am going to prove it to you!"_

"Hey-!" Bookman took an immediate step back from reaching hands, used his own to grab `Allen's` wrists and stop him, and touched nothing. The same could not be said for `Allen`. When `Allen` reached out, he could _feel_ fingers close on his clothing and pull on it, a hand reach up to cup the back of his head and grasp strands of red hair. He could feel the warmth - unnatural warmth - of his `body` near, the soft texture of his lips and his _scent_ , the taste and texture of his tongue in perfect sensational clarity.

 _Fuck_ , it all seemed so _real_.

Yet, when he tried to reach out, to push Allen away, remove the hands grasping his clothes and his hair, he grasped _air_.

 _Nothing there, nothing there, it's not real!_

Even closing his eye with a muffled grunt of protest, trying to block out the sight and hope that would make it easier to fight, trying to ignore how much he could feel and taste and hear, trying to tell himself _again and again and again_ that this was all a poorly concocted trick, it didn't make it _go away_.

The lips on his were vigorous, trying to suck away his breath; the body walking into him and backing him up solid and _heated_ ; the nails of one hand were in his scalp and the weight of the other groping between his thighs. His head was getting dizzy.

It was too real, _fuck_ , _it was too damn REAL_.

 _"Lavi..."_ Husky words exhaled on his face between kisses. _"Haven't you missed this?"_ Fuck. _"Haven't you missed me?"_ His. _"I can still be yours..._ " Life.

"Stop-" He closed his eye tighter, managing to slur just two words between heated kisses. "-it."

 _"Its just the two of us now. Nobody can see us. Nobody'll know if you stay silent enough."_ Exact words he remembered way too damn well, just like the feel of Allen's body arching against him in need, only he felt like the one drunk this time. _"You wanted me then, if not for Kanda... but now there's nothing standing between us, Lavi. There's nothing holding you back."_

The hiss in that tone, riding far too close to his ear, made him shiver, but the feeling that accompanied it _wasn't right_. It was revulsion. He was _sure_. Yet his brain kept tripping over _something else_ , some other feeling that _wasn't his own_ trying to overpower it. It was messing with his head. This wasn't right. _Nothing_ happening right now was right.

And he should be fighting.

He _should_.

He should-

He-

 _"Make me yours, Lavi. The way things were meant to be."_ He squirmed at the heat of closeness, the breath ghosting his skin, the tease of sweat and movement, the taste of promised _euphoria_. Like they were already- _"Let us go together. I'll take you there."_

He-

...was falling. Falling, falling, _falling_ , down a spiral, _falling forever_ , no up or down, just _falling_ , with no idea where he was headed, and no care for an answer, just _falling_ , and it was fine, and who fucking cared honestly?

Until it was shattered by a scream, loud and jarring and _inhuman_ , and just like the sound shattered the fog, a tight grasp on his wrist stopped the fall and yanked him onto solid earth. Bookman scrambled and sputtered for a moment, flipping over, and his eye went between Nikhil on the ground near him and the edge of a long drop into the earth not far away.

"Damn..." Nikhil huffed and puffed, winded. "That was _too_ close."

Bookman - much to his later vexation, but he would have time to feel it at some point after - couldn't help feeling entirely lost.

"Are you okay, Sensei?"

"Yeah... I think." He squinted faintly, reaching out to pinch the kid's arm.

Nikhil yelped and yanked away. "The Hell was that for?!"

Bookman chuckled a little, unapologetic. "Just making sure you're real." His head still didn't feel quite right, but it was _better_. "What'd you _do_?"

"Whacked it with a stick." The answer was so deadpan it was unbelievable.

"No, really..."

"No, really," Nikhil insisted, holding up a rod that had the marks of First Civilization on it. "Whacked it with a stick."

"Fancy stick."

"And you can't have it." Nikhil clutched it closer to his chest protectively. "It's mine now."

Bookman paused then, looking at his apprentice with appraisal. "You said: whacked _it_ with a stick. You saw it?"

"Creepy white ghosty shoving you towards your doom. Hard t' miss now." Nikhil grinned at him knowingly. "The answer is yes: I got my Sense."

"Well," Bookman huffed, shaking his head. "At least its got good timing." Standing up a bit shakily, flicking his head as if to further rid himself of that... _taint_... he looked around cautiously. "...we should keep moving and get this over with. Who knows what else we'll find down here?"

Nikhil nodded, seeming to agree. "Whatever it is better be afraid now, of me and my _stick_."

* * *

Just as Bookman had suspected, though temporarily dispelling whatever had it out for him, it didn't entirely get rid of the Allen illusion. Mostly, it was just sound. He _heard_ more than _saw_ , but the voice was _furious_.

It screamed, swore, and caterwauled from the walls, following them. Sometimes it was sentences, sometimes it was just garbled noises that made his ears ache. When he finally _did_ see `Allen` again, the image erratically flickered before them, glitching and _teleporting_ , and though the likeness was still that of _Allen's_ , it also wasn't. It was ugly... monstrous... _snarling_ at him with eyes flashing and blades drawn.

Bookman wasn't taking changes that those blades could be _felt_ just as easily as everything else could, keeping himself armed as they progressed further and further in, moving quickly and with Nikhil close on his heals.

When the illusion got too close for comfort - and it did more than once - he dispelled it with a good swing of the "stick" Nikhil had found, if only temporarily, and kept moving. Each time he destroyed the image of Allen, the screeches grew louder, _angrier_. The din was horrible, worse than the cacophony of canon fire on a battlefield.

He wanted to be done with it.

He wanted it to _stop_.

Finally, _finally_ , they reached a distinguishable door with a slot in it, which looked almost like a cross, with a small knob sticking from the crossroads. Bookman hummed, looking at it, then at the rod Nikhil had recovered. At its center, he'd noticed it had a small hole.

Maybe...

He lined it up with one of the slots of the cross and slid it in, until it was fully flush with the vertical slot, before pulling it out. He heard a click, and the knob pulled out along with the rod. Experimentally, he turned it, hearing something move, and pressed it in one the bar had become horizontal. Something in the wall _clunked_ , and within moments, it slid open to reveal a small, hidden chamber with a sword resting inside.

"Is that what we're here for?" Nikhil questioned, partly covering his ears to drown out the deathly wails.

"The Sword of Eden..." Bookman hummed, stepping forward and picking it up from its rack. "To some, better known as the sword of Jeanne d'Arc."

"Does this mean we can leave now?" Nikhil complained, his voice slightly strained against the loud noise.

"No." Bookman gave the sword an experimental twirl, testing its weight and wield, a thoughtful look on his face. "We can't yet. Not until this is whole."

"Whole?"

Bookman gave it a few more twirls before stopping and holding it up, so the blade split his image in two down the center.

" _Si cor est_ _fortis, non conteram illud;_ ` _if the heart is strong, it will not break`_ , as spoken by Jacques de Molay, 1307. The Sword of Eden is incomplete without its companion piece."

Nikhil huffed. "And where do we find _that_?"

Bookman paused to think about it, that pause leading to another. Could it possibly be that...

He hummed, his gaze skipping past Nikhil, to where the image of Allen, _angry_ and glitching, glared him down, moving towards him.

"We don't have to go and find it. Its been tailing us all along."

Nikhil blinked, angling his head back to look, before skipping over to hide behind Bookman from the thing. Bookman only regarded it levelly, feeling somewhat the fool, but it didn't matter.

"So its you. I knew there was something strange about all of this. Not sure if this all played out deliberately, or if its merely ironic." Sickly ironic. He poised his sword, ready to strike with it. "You're a manifestation of the sword's power source. The Heart."

`Allen` drew his hidden blades, the look in his eyes uncharacteristically _deadly_ , even by the standard of the infamous White Demon of the Assassin Order.

So be it. He wouldn't have it any other way.

Bookman lunged forward, met in turn with `Allen` doing the same, and with a precisely aimed strike, thrust through the illusion's chest. The image of Allen jolted, gasped, _writhed_ , and regarded him through eyes torn with agony and betrayal. Yet, whatever it stirred was flighty and quickly passing at most.

He wouldn't grieve.

This wasn't death.

No one had been killed.

Allen had been gone for a decade.

This was nothing but a cheap, pathetic parlor trick, and he felt _nothing_ over it. Absolutely nothing. And that was as it should have been.

The image faded then, squealing out the name he had forsaken long ago, when he took the title _Bookman_ he was always meant to inherit, and then _it_ was gone, leaving behind noting except a crimson orb that fit perfectly into a slot on the sword.

Sighing quietly, he retrieved the sheath for the weapon, sliding it in easily before turning to regard Nikhil, _relieved_ to finally be done.

"Now we can leave."

* * *

Much as when he had so often teased _Panda-Jiji_ Bookman when he was still alive about being old, after all of that, Bookman was definitely feeling his age. He hurt in too many places, but more than anything, he was tired. Certainly, it wouldn't be a first for him, and it wasn't surprising being how far and long they'd first traveled to get here without much rest, but he would be sure to sleep well once they were out of the ruins depths.

Leading the way, his single visible eye drooped a bit, and though he didn't drag too slowly, his pace wasn't necessarily that _fast_ either. He couldn't really be bothered to move too fast at the moment, even though moving faster would mean getting to sleep sooner.

"Sensei?"

"Mhm?" he humored tiredly.

"Who was that ghost?"

Bookman sighed, glancing over his shoulder at Nikhil, who was watching him intensely, inquisitive. Somehow he didn't think he'd get out of answering by simply refusing to... not without problems, anyway.

"Someone from a long time ago. Someone who's dead now."

"Oh..." Nikhil responded, looking down for a moment with a look of concentration. "...so... was _`Lavi`_ one of the names you took as an apprentice?"

"It is," Bookman nodded, staring ahead as they went.

"...also... weren't they a bit _young_ for you?"

Bookman almost choked on his smoke pipe, casting a glare over his shoulder. "I was young once too y'know!"

Nikhil grinned. " _Once_."

"Just you wait," Bookman promised. "It'll happen to you too eventually."

Nikhil hummed. "Maybe not. Maybe I'll find a way t' stay young forever."

"Not going to happen," Bookman told him flatly.

"We'll see."

Not much longer, and the entrance where they'd first come in from lay just ahead, filtering natural light in through the stone tunnel. Bookman squinted as he saw a pair of figures ahead, silhouetted against the brightness of the sky. Another Bookman and their apprentice, perhaps? He sped up a little, but kept protectively in front of Nikhil just in case, self-consciously fingering the sword he was carrying.

When he finally arrived outside, the figures turned to greet him. His breath faltered just a little - with _annoyance_ ; he thought the damn test was over! - when both were familiar faces to him. One younger, smiling - Allen - at him with all the warmth of the sun. One noticeably older - Kanda, as Lavi had last seen him - regarding him with a silent scoff and crossed arms that earned an elbow in the side. _  
_

`Allen` beamed at him and waved, while `Kanda` huffed, before faintly smiling and half-assing a wave of his own.

And then they were gone.

Bookman could only blink slowly, shaking his head slightly.

Man... he must really be tired.

Nikhil was watching him again. "Sensei? What is it now?" Because clearly, at this point, it has to be _something_.

He shook his head.

"Nothin'. I'm just ready to lay down and sleep for a couple days. How 'bout you?"

Nikhil's groan was unnecessarily and deliberately loud, the boy tossing his head back in exasperation. "I thought you'd never ask!"

Bookman smiled and stifled a yawn, while he waited for his apprentice to untie and lead their pack animal.

"Then I guess first order of business is to find ourselves somewhere to stay, wherever that turns out t' be next."

* * *

 **A/N:** So yeah, the story premise was made up by shaerahaek, I just executed it :3

The "Heart" and Joan of Arc's sword are canon to Assassins Creed and it was too fitting so yeah... anyway it is like 5 am so GOOD NIGHT ALL I am tired af.


End file.
